


you’re in his recent texts, I’m in his shitty car, we are not the same

by Hella_Queer



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Possessive Behavior, They are so needy for each other it’s so Loud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: Josh has spent a lot of important moments in Chris’ car.
Relationships: Chris Hartley/Josh Washington
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinningpumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinningpumpkin/gifts).



> Ahhhhhh finally this took me weeks to finish and I’m so happy it’s done!!! If you like this PLEASE let me know I’ve missed these boys so much. Dedicated to my new friend Pumpkin who I’ve dragged back down to the mines with me <3

Four rapid fire pings interrupt Josh in the middle of his sentence. He glances down at the beat up phone in the cup holder, lips twisting up in a smirk when he sees yet another text from Ashley. Her first text, sent almost an hour ago, was a simple **where are you :(** , to which Chris replied with an even simpler can't make it soz! Riding the high of a positive therapy session—shout out to Shannon, the greatest woman alive—and feeling just a little bit like a dickhead, he snapped a selfie of him and Chris in the Sonic parking lot and sent it to the group chat. Needless to say a certain someone didn’t take it well.

“She’s going to kill you when you get back on campus,” Josh says, taking a cheerful bite out of his third hotdog. “Can’t believe you left her hanging on Review Wednesday. A tragedy.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Chris rolls his eyes. “You were the one who wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone until I met you in the parking lot.” He glances down at his phone, lips pursed in contemplation. “You think if I bring her a shake she’ll forgive me?” 

Josh hums, kicking his feet up on the dashboard. Chris’ car was like an abstract painting in primary colors; very very ugly, and way too expensive. But Josh has exclusively ridden shotgun ever since it showed up in his driveway, and he’ll be damned before he lets anyone else roast Chris over an open flame for the horrendous paint job. Mustard yellow and mint green trim, like stripes on a venomous snake, scaring away all who venture too close. 

“You can always just turn the ringer off.” Josh bypasses the question entirely. It was two for one shake day; the unnecessary addition of a third party threw the balance off completely. Ashley didn’t even like Sonic, and when the group would go together she always made a point to winkle her nose and needle Chris for a taste of his shake, even though she already had her boring ass strawberry blend. Chris always got peanut butter, Ashley got strawberry. She said it tasted like breakfast when their flavors mixed together. 

Josh gags a little just thinking about it. 

“I only silence it during class.” Chris scoops up the last of the honey mustard with his chicken strip nub, popping the whole thing into his mouth. The car stinks like hot food, sugar and condiments. It reminds Josh of the concession stand at a movie theater. “I’d leave it off all day, but someone has a habit of calling me at three in the morning just to breathe in my ear like a serial killer.” 

Josh snorts, nodding a little. He was absolutely that someone. Nightmares didn’t care about being polite, neither did his paranoia. Or depression. Or anxiety. Basically his hurricane cocktail of mental sludge hated him more than any living, breathing human could, and being alone in the dark made him want to scratch his skin off. Chris’ sleep laden voice, his groggy greeting, his messy hair if they video called, _didn’t <\I> make him want to scratch his skin off. _

_“Well now I feel like a dick.”_

_“Good.”_

_Chris slurps the dregs of his shake with a smug little shoulder shake, laughing around the straw between his teeth. “So this isn’t peanut butter. Whoops.”_

_“Dude!” Josh channels his inner four year old and whines high and loud. “You shit eater. The last bit is always the best.” The caramel condenses at the bottom and it’s super thick and rot your teeth sweet. Better than any drug, and much cheaper._

_He’s full on pouting now, arms crossed tightly over his chest, head turned dramatically towards the window. He’d been waiting for it to melt and get slightly less cold but not warm, because the window between warm and lukewarm was too small to take chances on. This entire day is ruined and he will die mad about it! He glares at the phone in the cup holder; Josh didn’t often play the blame game but it certainly wasn’t _his <\I> fault Chris got distracted and grabbed the wrong drink. Stupid strawberry sucker. __

__Something pokes him in the cheek, then the corner of his mouth, then his chin. Without looking Josh parts his lips and uses his tongue to guide the straw into his mouth, sulkily gulping down the less sweet but still delicious peanut butter mixture._ _

__“I can’t believe people think you’re the cool one,” Chris says, still holding cup. “You’re a literal man child. The biggest spoiled brat on the planet.”_ _

__Josh makes direct eye contact with him then proceeds to deepthroat the straw. And of course Chris can’t look away, because that would mean backing down. So they sit there, glaring at each other, while Josh makes a show of draining every last drop from this thing. It tastes sweeter all of a sudden, more satisfying. Chris’ hand shakes a little bit, bright spots of color blooming in his cheeks. Josh reaches out and grabs his wrist to hold him steady, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of moments._ _

__He pops off with a lip smacking sound, heat flowing through him, some places hotter than others. “And whose fault if that?” He flashes Chris an impish grin, wiggling his tongue like a true brat does. “You’re an enabler, Cochise, start taking responsibility.”_ _

__The heat in his own cheeks is easy to ignore when captain fumbles in the driver seat spends ten whole minutes connecting his phone to the radio, the only current adaptation this ancient rust bucket has. Josh finds himself fighting back a smirk, feet up on the dashboard, sitting snug as a bug in the passenger seat._ _

__They end up getting two more shakes for the road. Josh doesn’t remind Chris about grabbing one for Ashley until they’re halfway back to campus._ _


	2. Chapter 2

The worst part about getting his shit together was going back to school. 

After that disastrous nightmare of a prank a year ago, which was more or less a literal mental breakdown, Josh has been slowly crawling his way back to functional. He switched medications, getting proper ones to address his schizophrenia as well as his depression. His parents helped him find a new therapist; the real Dr. Hill was nice and caring but Josh feared his previous hallucinations of him would taint their relationship. Dr. Hill understood completely, and even referred the Washington’s to a trusted colleague of his who specialized in patients like Josh. 

Shannon, his new therapist, is amazing. Her office is close to his new apartment, which is close to his new school. Which is almost Five Hours Away from everything and everyone he’s gotten used to over the past twenty-one years of his life. 

Don’t get him wrong! The fact that he hasn’t flunked out by now is a miracle. The deal is that as long as he maintains a C or higher in all of his classes his dad will pay for him to live in one of the apartments by campus. He’s in a single room, because nightmares, but the guys on his floor are cool, and most of the people in his classes are cool, and the tentative friends in his film and writing classes are great to bounce ideas around with. So far the entire experience has been a major boost to his mental health, and his dream of being a famous director is somehow no longer another far fetched fantasy. 

But five hours is a long ass fucking time! You can get from Ohio to Illinois in that amount of time. That’s an entirely different state! Can’t just zip down to the arcade and shoot hoops with Mike, or the batting cages with Matt, or drive to the mall with Emily and play voiceover announcer as they people watch. No morning yoga with Sam, or Starbucks dates with Jess while she bitches about work and doodles on his hands with crayola markers. He can’t even bother Ashley at the library two blocks away from their old high school. It feels like living in a mirror universe where his family is so close but completely out of reach. It makes for really lonely weekends, and sleepless nights spent stalking their social media’s to catch up on what he’s missing out on. 

Today was one of those days. Friday, no class until Tuesday, with absolutely nothing to do that would capture his interest. He scheduled his therapy session early as incentive to get out of bed, but now it’s barely two in the afternoon, and all he wants to do is crawl into bed and toss and turn until Sunday. He’s so weighed down in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the car following him until he’s three blocks away from Shannon’s office. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, his heart starts to pump faster, adrenaline kicks him in the shin. He sets his face into a scowl and looks sharply over his shoulder, only to damn near collapse on the side of the street. Mustard yellow, mint green, the grinning face of his moronic best friend leaning out the window as he pulls over to the curb. 

“‘’Scuse me!” Chris calls, one arm hanging out the window. He’s wearing the gold and dark blue university shirt Josh bought him when they took the campus tour. Josh wanted to go by himself, prove he could be on his own without having an episode, and ended up calling Chris at four in the morning to drive down with him. When apprehension dried up his vocal cords Chris was the one to ask all the important questions and take notes for his parents to read over later. Josh bought him the shirt as thanks, as well as a McDonald’s spread fit for a king. 

“I’m looking for someone who lives around here. About five-eight, moss green eyes, answers to lil bitch?” Chris chuckles as Josh swaggers over to the car, crowding into the window to dangle his arms inside and lean on the door. Chris beams, scrunching up his face in a very smug expression. 

“How long have you been creepin on me?” He removes Chris’ glasses and twirls them, head cocked to the side so he can better look at this mad man who appeared in his life out of the blue. Chris’ eyes were the kind of blue that girls tripped over themselves to see. That pretty icy color that you wanted in earrings or a silk shawl. But nobody looked too closely at the guy in glasses who danced at red lights and only knew three just okay rap songs. Which was probably for the best. They wouldn’t appreciate him. 

“I was gonna pick you up from the office but I got stuck behind a train. Traffic kinda kept me from getting close enough to honk the horn. But then I saw what you were wearing and got distracted by how fucking ugly those shoes are.”

Chris might as well be legally blind without his glasses, but he’s not squinting at Josh now. Probably because he’s close enough to not be too blurry. His skin was finally clearing up, Josh notices, flicking him between his eyebrows. That skin care kit Jess got him for Christmas was finally doing its job. 

“If Sammy were here she’d kick your ass.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t bring her.” Chris’ smile fades a little as he peers up into Josh’s face. “I wasn’t trying to freak you out though, seriously. You okay?”

Josh’s knee jerk reaction is to brush aside any discomfort, but he _just <\I> left therapy. He can at least try to be honest with himself. He deserves that and so much more, even if admitting it feels like pulling off his toenails. Still he puts on Chris’ glasses to skew his own vision, finding it easier to talk when he can’t fully read the expressions on his face. _

_“A little spooked,” he admits. “I was planning on fighting whoever got up in my space.” He finds it easier to conjure up a smile knowing it’s Chris, knowing it was just his dorky, awkward ass. Knowing he’s safe in this monstrosity bringing down property values. “But I’m alright now.” He puts his glasses back on, the view of each other becoming clearer at the same time. Chris blinks at him like a cat would, and Josh allows himself to be seen._

_“Let me make it up to you.” The words are barely a murmur in the minimal space between them. Josh does his best not to get swept up in this, pulling back with a little half laugh._

_“How do you plan on doing that?”_

_Chris hooks a thumb to the backseat. “I’ve got nowhere to sleep for the next three days. Let me crash at your place and we can do whatever you want.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, psyching himself up for whatever he wants to say next._

_“I’m yours until Monday afternoon.”_

_Josh laughs loudly, any lingering tension evaporating as he jogs around the front of the car to fall into the passenger seat. He’s got fizzy bubbles in his chest and a new kind of adrenaline in his racing heart. He messes with the radio on the way back to his place, and sticks his legs out the window on the twenty-five minute drive to the movie theater where they spend the entire afternoon in and out of everything that’s showing. By the end of the night Josh is half asleep against the window, listening to Chris mumble along to a Bruno Mars song as they weave lazily through Friday night traffic._

_Monday afternoon can take its sweet ass time getting here. Josh isn’t in any hurry._


	3. Chapter 3

Road trips suck. He takes back any positive thing he’s ever said or thought about them. He wishes he could go back in time and prevent the concept from every happening. Packing more than two people in a confined space for an undetermined amount of time must be some kind of torture from Ancient Greece. It has to be. Why else would Josh feel like turning the windows _that don’t even go down all the way_ into a makeshift guillotine? 

Yes, he was ecstatic about spending the day at the beach with the gang, everyone gathered together for the first time since Christmas which was so far behind them it was only six months away now. 

No he wasn’t upset that Chris had drew one of the short straws, along with Mike, and would be the one putting miles on his car in order to haul all their asses down to the coast. 

_Of course_ he wasn’t bitter about sitting in the backseat with its complete lack of legroom, sitting on the wrong side to catch the sunlight, shrouded in shadows like a bridge troll. The fact that he was the last to be picked up doesn’t bother him. The fact that Sammy and Matt are back here with him doesn’t bother him. 

The sight of Ashley in the front seat doesn’t make his blood boil what are you talking about?! 

The rules of shotgun are sacred, he knows this. Whoever calls it gets it, and if you’re not quick on the draw then too bad, so sad, better luck next time. But this wasn’t just any car, and that wasn’t just any passenger seat. Josh has been wearing a crease into that thing for years, five of them to be exact. He knows Ashley’s butt doesn’t fit into the grooves like his does, and the fact that she’s perched up there like a parrot, twirling her hair and laughing about some classmate that Josh doesn’t know from a school he doesn’t go to… 

“What the hell is this station?” He groans. “Are we being haunted by a hipster or something, damn!” 

“It’s the top hits,” Ashley tells him like he’s an idiot who can’t read the bright blue letters on the display screen. Of course he can read them, he bought the fucking system! “It’s called _pop_ –ular music for a reason.”

“More like pop my eardrums out.” Josh slumps down in his seat and puts his feet on the back of Chris’ seat. It doesn’t feel the same, and honestly makes things even more cramped back here. He nudges and wiggles and tries to get room, kicking a few times as if that’ll make a difference.

“Dude.” Chris says. Once. Sharp. Josh immediately puts his feet back on the floor and tries not to _hmph <\I> like a five year old as he crosses his arms over his chest. From his position directly behind him Josh can’t even tell if he’s still annoyed or not. It makes him itchy. He doesn’t like being itchy. _

_“You guys know how to surf?” Matt asks after a long stretch of silence. “My aunt from Hawaii taught me and my brother when we were little. I wasn’t that good at it, but wiping out was half the fun anyway.”_

_Sam smiles, looking up from her phone. “I’ve always wanted to try but I’ve been too lazy to take lessons. Watching competitions online is about as close as I’ve gotten so far.”_

_“I can’t swim,” Ashley admits, scrunching her nose in a way many people might find cute. Josh thinks she just looks confused. “All the scary movies about water demons and being lost at sea have really put me off. It’s a good skill to have but I don’t know where to start.”_

_“Head first in shallow end.”_

__“Josh!”_ >_

_“I’m kidding!” He forces a smile, the itchiness increasing. “I’m practically an Olympian. I taught the girls how to swim no problem. You’d be safe with me, Ash.” Spread him on a cracker via spray can because he is fake and cheesy! It’s a good thing nicknames are a staple of his personality, otherwise his charm and wit would be seen for what it really is: insecure bitchiness._

_Ashley hums, gazing straight ahead. “I’d also probably be in pieces, Captain Hacksaw.” Sam snorts, the sound of betrayal. “Or maybe you’ll fill my life vest with rocks like the world’s most obvious murder attempt. Talk about a box office flop.”_

_This time they all laugh, including Chris who hunches over the steering wheel he’s so entertained. Josh coughs out a few sounds that could be miscommunication as laughter and pulls out his phone, suddenly distracted and very busy. He lets the conversation continue on without him, even though he has a million and one stories about all the trips he, Chris and the girls took to the pool when they were kids. The first time Chris used the diving board, the pool noodle war of grade seven, the candy bar in the hot tub prank that left them all in stitches. He keeps them to himself, mouth sewn shut for the next hour and a half._

_By the time they arrive at what should hopefully be their last rest stop Josh is ready to fold into himself. He’s the first one out of the car and he wastes no time reaching the bathroom, needing a quiet place to settle his loud ass thoughts. He feels like an exposed nerve and one bad connection will cause him to combust. Things aren’t much better outside of the gas station either; he slips around the side and hides out by the back door, eyes closed as he paces in a small loop._

_He’s not surprised when he hears footsteps approaching him. He turns, mouth dropping open to fire off any excuse that’ll get Sammy off his back, only to be backed into the wall, hands on either side of his shoulders. He’s so surprised that he laughs, watching Chris’ stern expression harden further._

_“Well hello there,” he says, tilting his head. “Can I help you, Cochise?” He bites down on the inside of his cheek, warm tingles replacing the itchiness under his skin._

_Chris rarely gets angry, and even less so with Josh. He’s been annoyed plenty of times, but if he plays the scene right Josh can get him relaxed and laughing again in no time. Seeing him like this, those pretty blue eyes narrowed, brows furrowed so genuinely… it does something to him. Right now he has his full attention, and the spotlight is making him sweat._

_“What the hell is your problem?” Ohhh he’s _mad_ mad. Josh can see the lines of tension in his neck; he’s only wearing two shirts today and the top one is unbuttoned nearly halfway, revealing a sand colored tank top underneath. _

_“That’s a loaded question.” Josh doesn’t stop to question why his voice is all floaty. Giddy. “You want it alphabetically or by medical description?” He has to hold his breath when Chris crowds in closer, forcing them to make Serious Eye Contact._

_“You’ve been in a mood ever since we picked you up.” Ugh don’t say _we_ like it was a group effort. “If you wanted to ride with Mike you should’ve said something a week ago when we planned the fucking trip!” _

_“This ain’t about Mike, Christopher.” Fuck fuck fuck _what the fuck is happening?_ He doesn’t know, but he feels a little high, a little hot under the collar and a lot harder than he was five minutes ago. This is usually the part where one of them backs off, where they draw the line. But Josh wraps his arms around Chris’ shoulders and weaves his fingers through his hair. He pulls him closer still, until Chris has to take his hands off the wall and put them on his hips instead. _

_“Then what’s it about?” Warm hands slip under his shirt and move down, until slightly calloused thumbs are digging sharply into his hip bones. It hurts, the ache spreading down his legs and curling his toes and _holy fucking shit_ did he huff something in the bathroom? _

_“It’s about what I want.”_

_They’re both hard, three layers of fabric separating them, and Josh has never been happier to go commando. Something in him takes over and in a true out of body experience he _pulls_ on Chris’ hair. It’s gotten longer, more flippy as he eases out of his hair gel Mohawk and into something more fun to play with. He pulls again, increasing in pressure, and physically can’t stop himself from grinding against him when Chris moans in his ear, low and deliberate like he didn’t even try to stifle the sound. _

_“I want my seat back,” Josh pants into his shoulder, static filling his ears. Chris is slowly but surely pushing his jeans down and he can’t for the life of him come up with a good excuse as to why he shouldn’t. “It’s _mine.” <\I> He fists the back of Chris’ shirt to keep him still, just to touch him, who knows who cares. “And I _want it.”___

__The front seat, the cup holder, control of the radio, the dashboard footrest, the dorky laugh and the bright eyes and the hard dick against his thigh. All of that belongs to him and he doesn’t give a damn about anyone who thinks otherwise._ _

__Chris laughs in his ear, and it’s nothing like his usual, pig snorty laugh. It’s low and throaty and taps something at the base of Josh’s spine that turns his thoughts to pure liquid. “You’ve been bitching about a seat in my car for almost three hours.”_ _

__If his pants go any lower his dick will actually spring out of his pants, cartoon sound effects and all._ _

__“And instead of opening your mouth like a big boy.”_ _

__Josh swears he’s ripping hair out of Chris’ head with how hard he’s pulling but he can’t find it in himself to apologize. Not even sneaking fingers are dipping down further inside of his jeans to feel up his thighs. Jesus fucking Christ just take them off!_ _

__“You decided to act out like a little _brat_.” _ _

__Josh locks his legs so he doesn’t crumble to the ground. Chris is literally holding him up now, arms around his waist to keep his lust drunk ass upright. He’s so hard he could drill a hole through a bank vault and if he doesn’t get some proper friction soon he’s lighting a match and setting this entire place on fire. Maybe he’ll walk away in slow motion like a badass. Maybe he’ll stand in the center and let the physical flames consume him. That’s almost preferable to the metaphorical fire that’s licking him from the inside, a hot spot wherever Chris puts his hands. He can feel his breath on his cheek, strawberry candy and soda, nothing but pure sugar and Josh has never been more jealous._ _

__What he wouldn’t give to melt over Chris’ tongue._ _

__It’s Chris who forces them over that last hurdle, gripping Josh’s chin and tuning his face to the side. He misses the mark the first time but Josh doesn’t care, eyes falling shut, savoring the slow path Chris’ lips make across his cheek. Time doesn’t stop, more like they step outside of it, like they’re so Above It All the natural laws of the universe don’t apply. Maybe that’s how it’s always been with them. Maybe they were always headed here, hidden from everyone else, trying to see who can crawl under the others skin the fastest. Maybe—_ _

__“If you guys don’t hurry up we’re leaving without you!”_ _

__Josh somehow has the sense of mind to roll his eyes up into space. He can already feel his erection flagging, his rose tinted bubble bursting at the sound of Ashley’s voice. She couldn’t wait five more minutes? Three? If he was anyone else, say Emily, he’d beat her with his four inch pumps and a coin purse._ _

__But looking at Chris almost makes up for it. He’s still holding Josh’s face between his fingers, but he’s glaring intensely in the direction of her voice, like he’s a mountain lion ready to fight for his game. His little Christopher, an angry feral beast. _That’s_ going in the spank bank for later, no question. He can’t hide his disappointment though, not when he was guaranteed exactly what he wanted, alone time with Chris and a hand around his dick, only for the rug to be yanked out from under him. _ _

__“What I wouldn’t give for a life jacket full of rocks,” Chris mutters bitterly against his skin, and it feels like a victory._ _

__“Oh my _god!” Josh laughs so hard he wheezes, using this as an opportunity to (sadly) put some distance between them. He dances around the corner of the building and makes his way back to the others, who are all standing in the nearly empty lot, bags of snacks in their hands. He strides right past, refusing eye contact with Sammy who is definitely Looking at him.__ _

___“Shotgun!” He calls, casual and confident and not at all still half hard, blood humming a happy tune as he falls into the passenger seat. He wiggles his butt until the groove welcomes him home like an identification pad, and sings out a long, satisfied sigh._ _ _

___“Look alive, Washington.” He turns at the sound of Chris’ voice, oblivious to the others piling into the backseat because a bag of sour gummy worms has appeared before him. He clutches the bag to his chest with one hand and locks, unlocks, locks the doors with the other. The engine starting up again as they merge back onto the road feels like a cat purring. A big, ugly, friendly cat rumbling against his thigh. Feels good, feels organic._ _ _

___“You spoil me, Cochise.” He says ripping into the bag. Chris just hums, their eyes meeting for a split second that hangs in eternity. Josh can still feel his hands on his bare skin, his warm breath against his ear. The part of him that usually forgets and pushes away those slip ups is absent, left on the side of the road way back there. He’s gotten a little taste of paradise and now he wants to drown in it, let it consume him, burn him._ _ _

___(He hopes Chris is a biter. The thought of walking around with handprints on his waist and teeth marks on his neck and shoulders _really <\I> gets him going). __ _ _

____Josh kicks his feet up on the dashboard and nods along to Bowling For Soup, licking sugar from his lips and savoring the feeling of the sun on his face. When he sings, sometimes in tune, sometimes out of it on purpose, he’ll get an answering line from the driver’s seat, matching his energy no matter the song or timing. He steals the chips in the cup holder and drinks from the soda bottle that is absolutely not his and doesn’t receive a single complaint._ _ _ _

____He glances to the side as often as he wants, and in his peripheral he can see Ashley trying and failing not to give him dirty looks from the backseat._ _ _ _

____But mostly he just sees Chris._ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

Josh knows that his nightmares often come rolling in without rhyme or reason; too little sleep, too much sleep, a joke he laughed at hours prior only to twist in on itself when the lights go out. He’s gotten used to rolling over and grabbing his phone, fingers acting out of muscle memory to hit the number usually at the top of his contacts. Sometimes it’s just ten minutes of breathing exercises if he’s more tired than spooked, needing the white noise of a confirmed human being before he passes out, face half smothered in his pillow. Other times it’s longer, tension bleeding out in a trickle, not even fully soothed by the rising sun, but calmer in the aftermath. He’s used to the panic of listening to the line ring for long seconds at a time, used to the instant relief that leaves him breathless when Chris picks up. 

What he’s not used to is the reverse. 

Josh thinks he’s dreaming at first, curled up in the center of his bed, weighed down with cold medicine, a headache, and anything that resembles a blanket. He has to dig through the cocoon to find his phone and by the time he does it’s already stopped ringing. But then it starts again. He answers with barely opened eyes, the light too bright, burning his damn retinas. 

“Mmm?”

“Josh?” 

He sits upright in bed so fast he gets dizzy. Chris sounds awful, voice scratchy like he took sandpaper to the inside of his throat. He looks at his phone for the time and can’t comprehend what he sees. 

“Chris? It’s two in the morning, what’s happening?” He rubs his eyes and pinches his cheek, trying desperately to wake himself up faster. “Did something with Han and Beth? Sammy?”

Chris is quiet on the other line, but if Josh strains his ears he swears he can hear him laughing. It’s not any of his normal laughs; hollow, dry, slightly hysterical. The sound curdles Josh’s stomach and sets him on edge. 

“They’re fine,” he says, not sounding fine at all. “Nothing to worry about.” He sighs heavily, and Josh feels his own shoulders sagging in sympathy. “Couldn’t sleep. Felt like taking a drive.”

“You’re driving?” Josh doesn’t trust his brain most of the time but even he knows that trying to do anything when you’re tired is impossible, let alone operating a fucking vehicle! Chris always got on his ass about getting behind the wheel when he’s not in the right headspace, so how was this any different. “Where?” 

“Nowhere. Just driving.” Chris blows out another heavy breath but he doesn’t offer anything else. Josh tries hard to squash his disappointment. His neighborhood wasn’t particularly close to Chris’, but it was less than a thirty minute drive when traffic was good and the weather was nice. They can’t climb over gates or into each other’s windows anymore.

“Dude,” he says. “Cochise,” he murmurs, softer. “What’s going on with you? It’s me, man. You know you can tell me anything.”

“Can I?” 

Josh flinches back like he’s been slapped, looking down at his phone with wide eyes. Wow. Okay. What the fuck. 

“Chris?” His voice wavers and he’s too out of it, too stripped bare to put up his usual walls. “Are you drunk? Is that what this is?” He doesn’t know what to do, this isn’t his area of expertise. He was the one who fell apart and crumbled and spilled open on the side of the road, and Chris was the one who stitched him back together. The best he can do on a good day is staple his wounds shut. He doesn’t know how to repair. 

“I’m not drunk,” Chris says, clear and crisp but still irritated. “I’m fine, shits fine. I meant to call someone else, I’ll see you later.”

And then he hangs up. 

The silence that fills Josh’s ears is suffocating. It wraps around him, starting at his feet and twisting around his legs, squeezing his chest and strangling him, until he’s wheezing through his nose, until black spots dance in his eyes. He flies out of bed to flip on his light, chasing away the shadows and gulping down the yellowish hue like water. He opens his door just to make sure it isn’t locked, that he’s not trapped, but the darkness of the hallway discourages him. 

Josh pulls on a pair of sweatpants, and then a shirt. Then he realizes it’s one of Chris’ that he forgot the last time he came to visit so he rips it off and throws it as hard as he can into the corner. He glares at it hard enough to set it on fire, but it just lays there, stubbornly not on fire and very much just this side of oversized. It’s soft and comfortable, doesn’t irritate his skin, because despite their difference in budgets Chris’ clothes always felt more comfortable than his. He doesn’t like to think about why. 

He stomps over to his closet and digs around in the pile on the floor until his hands find his favorite sweatshirt. It’s big, a deep forest green with soft material on the inside that feels like wearing a walking blanket. The hood no longer has a string, none of them do, but he doesn’t really need it. In fact he doesn’t really need pants with these since it extends well past his thighs. So he takes those off and tosses them in the opposite corner from the shirt that refuses to combust. 

And then he calls Chris. 

His glare is intense, he can see it in the top right even with the hood trying to swallow his head. Chris answers on the third ring, slumped down in the driver's seat, lips pressed together in a thin line. Josh’s eyes take in his disheveled hair and pale face, the dark circles under his eyes and the awful stubble trying to grow on his chin. He looks like shit, and Josh can’t help but lament that it’s been a long, long two months since they’ve seen each other last.

“You know you’re in trouble right? Like, I could maim you with one of dad’s trophies trouble.” 

“Yeah.”

“You can _not_ hang up on me like that.” His voice cracks but his gaze is steady, drilling twin holes through his screen. “You hear me? _Never_ , especially not like that.”

Chris is smart, even if he tries to downplay it. He can see the lights on, he can see the guarded set to Josh’s eyes, a far cry from how he normally is when it’s just the two of them. Josh feels childish, getting spooked like a cat when it bumps into a cucumber, but he’s learning that his reactions aren’t shameful, and that if he wants to cry and kick and scream then he should be allowed to. Provided he wasn’t in like a supermarket or something, he wasn’t that far gone for a public tantrum. A private one though? 

“I know,” Chris murmurs, the irritation and flippant dismissal from earlier thankfully absent. “I’m sorry.”

Josh starts pacing because that’s what you do to get the anxiety out of your system. Gotta keep moving like a shark, let that fight or flight sort itself out. “We have rules for this kind of thing,” he says, repeating words he’s heard so many times before. “And the rule is that we don’t hang up until shit feels better.” 

Because you never know if the last thing you say to someone will be the last thing you ever say to them. 

“Do you feel better?”

Chris shakes his head. “Do you?” 

“What do you think?” 

Chris shakes his head again, sullen and remorseful, and Josh feels some of his armor crack. He wants to rip him a new asshole but holding onto the anger is more exhausting than being angry. Damn you therapy and your insightful commentary on his emotional processes. Let him act bitchy for twenty minutes without getting bone tired. 

“I..” Chris starts, then stops. He peers closely at his screen, a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Josh frowns at the change in subject. “No, dude, it’s mine.” He tries to catch those eyes, the color washed away in the darkness of his car. He wonders where he pulled over to, where he is, who he called when he dropped Josh like a lit stick of dynamite. But Chris is clearly distracted, biting the corner of his mouth, looking at something seemingly over his shoulder. 

On a whim he glances back and catches his own reflection in the long mirror his mother insisted that he get. He’s wearing this thing like a cloak, legs very much naked as far as anyone would be concerned. He whips his gaze back to Chris who is now pointedly not looking at him, rummaging around in his glove compartment, face conveniently out of frame. With a huff he marches back to the light switch and plunged the room into darkness once again. He’s calmer now, and warmer, heat filling his cheeks. 

“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Christopher.” He climbs into bed, gathering his blanket nest around him and piling the pillows behind him. He pays no attention to the shadows in his peripheral, focusing on the man in front of him, fingers clutching the sheets. 

Chris drums his fingers on the steering wheel, debating something in that head of his, before he starts the car. He puts his phone in the dashboard holder Jess got him, and flips the camera so that Josh is looking at the road and not the inside of the car. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to interrupt whatever he’s going to say. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on his voice, pulling in his words and pushing out his own frantic thoughts. 

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Josh hears, and something inside of him turns to ash. “Bad ones.”

Once upon a time a similar conversation took place in a treehouse. Josh, tired, skinny, fourteen and without shoelaces, recently released from the hospital. Chris, big eyes filled with pain and concern that he tried desperately to hide. He followed Josh like a shadow, hovered but tried to be quiet about it, afraid of scaring him off but even more afraid to let him slip through his fingers. It was a rough two years afterwards, and to see history repeating itself… 

“For how long?” Josh presses his phone to his forehead, breathing in deeply through his nose. Don’t accuse, don’t talk over him. Let him get it all out. He watches the once familiar streets roll by with a heavy heart, aching to be there with him. 

“Bout a year?” Chris phrases it like a question. “It’s been off and on for so long, hard to remember when it started.” _Clammy hands covered in bandages gripping his in the dark, a cracking voice whispering into a darkened bedroom._

“Wh-what are they..” Josh swallows hard, pressing the heel of his hand to his traitorous left eye. “What happens? In the nightmare.” Talking it out is good he reminds himself, it’s important. If you let it out it can’t stick to your bones and weigh you down. 

Chris is quiet for so long Josh would’ve been worried he fell asleep at the wheel, if not for the continued forward motion of the car. With a start he realizes he recognizes these specific streets better than others. The big tree that blooms beautifully red in the fall, the old mailbox that Beth stuck a piece of gum under when she was seven, that manhole cover that’s shaped like a pumpkin if you look at it from the right angle. And right around this corner, just over the big hedges Mrs. Kingsley used to pay them to trim with safety scissors, is...

“You,” Chris whispers. “Sometimes it’s weird shadow creatures, or these tall, clammy, Slender Man type things. But mostly it’s you.”

The Washington house looks the same, still big and inviting even in the dark. His dad took down their old tire swing after his stint in the hospital, but he knows the treehouse is still holding strong. He misses it suddenly even though he hasn’t thought about it in a long time. Life seemed so much simpler up there, with the glow in the dark stickers and their chalkboard, countless games of checkers and cards and thumb wrestling that turned into real wrestling, until Hannah or his mom scolded them to knock it off, afraid they would go tumbling out. 

Maybe he doesn’t miss the wood and the way it smelled when it rained, but the way Chris would lay across his legs when they read comic books, the way he counted the few freckles that sprouted across his forehead in summer. Chris and his two years of braces, who tried his best to only smile with his mouth closed, who only showed them off when Josh made him laugh. Maybe Josh doesn’t miss running out at night to hide away in a place that was truly his own, but the way Chris showed up at all hours whenever he called, with snacks and blankets and all kinds of things to drown out the static in his head. 

Fuck. 

“Sometimes it’s a horror movie style decapitation. Totally over the top and messy. The kind of shit the real you would laugh about. Other times it’s bad. You’re falling and I can’t catch you. You’re drowning and the waves pull you further out to sea, out of my reach.”

_Fuck._

“No matter what happens I’m always too late. I’m not fast enough, strong enough, I’m not there for you. I’m too far away.”

Josh shakes his head even though he knows Chris can’t see, or maybe he rejects that notion so hard he has to physically get away from it. Because what the hell is he even saying? 

“You have no idea how many times you’ve saved my life.” That’s not what Josh intended to say but now that his mouth is open he can’t shut up. “You’re not a last resort when I’m drowning in a panic—you’re the first damn option. I don’t even think about calling anyone else. And maybe that’s not fair, maybe it’s selfish. But you _always_ pick up. And you don’t let me go until I can tread water on my own again.”

Which is why tonight hurt him so bad. Chris was his lifeline, that lungful of air he gulped down right before a massive wave drags him under. Just thinking about him settled his frantic heart, and seeing his face soothed the burning in his chest. He was a drug of a different kind, one Josh was undoubtedly addicted to, dependent on, and one he wasn’t ashamed of needing. Maybe he should be, maybe the way he looked to Chris to fix the problems that ate away at his brain like maggots on a weeks old corpse required a few therapy sessions of their own. 

“What about when the phone calls aren’t enough?”

“That’s not your fault.” Josh desperately wants to see his face but he’s afraid the moment those deep blues find him he’ll dissolve into the tears clogging up his throat. “Sometimes shit is bad and I have to get over it.”

Chris doesn’t respond, and instead circles the block a few times before Josh orders him to just park in his driveway. He doesn’t want anyone to call the cops on him, and the driveway looks empty anyway. He vaguely recalls his mom gushing about a flash trip to New York, and Emily asking him what food Beth liked so she could rope her into Jessica’s girls night weekend. 

“Do you remember where the spare key is?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Josh watches silently as Chris navigates his darkened house, body tensing at every shadow while his oblivious best friend stumbles and fumbles his way upstairs. He leaves the phone on the sink while he does his business, and finds his spare toothbrush at Josh’s instance. The routine of it all is soothing, and Josh doesn’t realize he’s falling asleep until the phone clatters noisily to the ground. 

“You dropped me,” he whines, squinting through one eye. He tucks his knees closer to his chest and rubs his face against the soft material of the hood. It no longer smells like strong, spicy deodorant and hair gel, which he misses. 

“Sorry.” Chris’ voice is no louder than a whisper despite him being alone in the house. The camera gets a bit shaky as Chris crawls into bed, Josh’s bed, but soon enough he’s settled in, and finally returns the camera to his face. His eyes are red rimmed but his face is clean, and without his glasses he looks younger, softer, the hard edges of his face smoothing out into youthful roundness. Or maybe that’s just Josh getting knocked on his ass by nostalgia. The last time Chris was in his bed they were kids reading choose your own adventure books and fighting over who got the flat pillow. 

They stare at each other for a long time, eyes illuminated by the thin glass separating them. Josh’s bed is suddenly freezing, and he can only imagine how warm Chris is, how he bleeds heat and keeps it secured in his many layers. He wants to burrow into him, he wants to lock his limbs around him and fuse together until they become one hideous, amorphous abomination, one that no one would dare approach. 

“Do you remember when you went away to film camp? In eighth grade?” Chris asks, pushing his hair away from his face. It’s longer still, in need of a good trim. Josh curls his fingers in the sheets, the urge to pull almost a physical thing. 

“Yeah,” Josh sighs, the fond memories there but fuzzy, because he doesn’t want to get taken out of the present. “It was fun, even if I cried after mom and dad dropped me off.” 

Chris’ lips quirk up in a barely there smile, but it’s gone just as quick as it came. “I never told you, because I didn’t want you to be mad, but I really didn’t want you to go.”

That’s probably the biggest shock of the night. When he told Chris about the camp he was practically pushing him out the door, demanding a real movie and lots of numbers from cute girls. He even joked about being the coolest one in their class while he was away, saying that without Josh around they’d have to settle for the next best thing. He did that a lot back then, put himself below Josh, joked his way out of heavy conversations. Funny how the tables slowly turned as they grew up, as Chris started to find himself and Josh started falling apart. 

“It was only for six weeks,” Josh reasons. “Not even the whole summer.” 

“I know. That’s what makes it even worse.” He flops onto his back, giving Josh a wonderful profile view. He needs to shave, badly, but Josh can’t help but picture him with a really good beard, the kind that would leave an irritating burn on his inner thighs. “I got it in my head that if you met other film kids, smart ones who understood all your opinions and knew the business and had that drive, you’d find a new best friend. A better one. And you’d forget all about me.”

“Chris..”

“I know it’s stupid, that’s why I never said anything. It’s just… right now feels a lot like eighth grade. I thought I had gotten over this, but I guess I was wrong.” 

Josh catches a glimpse of the time and winces, wondering how long Chris had sat with his thoughts tonight before deciding to call him. “Gotten over what?” He feels like a parrot, or a toy with a string on its back, saying short phrases that fall dully on his ears. 

Chris turns to look at him and Josh has never wanted to kiss someone so badly. “This overwhelming need to be wherever you are.”

Josh sinks his teeth into those words, hungry and greedy for the validation that Chris doesn’t even know he’s giving him. It’s not just him who feels that way, then. He’s not the only one who feels like a raccoon in the night, stealing scraps of attention from the garbage like old pizza crusts. 

“You think you’re special cause you’re clingy? Hi I’m Josh Washington and I get pouty when you don’t text me back right away.” His heart jumps off beat in his chest and he feels like he’s flying, especially when Chris laughs, a tired little giggle that shakes his shoulders and lightens up his eyes. Josh wishes he could just roll over on top of him, kiss the dark circles under his eyes and also every single inch of him. 

“You know you’re it for me, right?” A year ago, months ago, admitting this out loud would’ve sparked the biggest anxiety attack known to man. But right now, warm and curled up on his side with Chris gazing steadily back at him, he feels something like relief. 

“Yeah?” Chris rolls the word in his mouth like a hard candy, the kind with the soft, gooey centre. 

“You sound surprised.”

“You’re _Josh Washington_.” Again with the hair ruffling. “You could have anyone you wanted with a snap of your allegedly talented fingers.”

“If that were true you’d be in my bed right now.”

Chris takes a look around himself, clearly fighting back a smirk. “ _Technically..”_

Josh sticks his tongue out, feet wiggling happily under the covers. He’s tired and giddy and nervous and secure all at once, his smile escaping along with a massive yawn that leaves him blinking in confusion. He stretches out on his back like a lazy cat, holding his phone high so Chris can get a perfect view of how cozy he is in the not-his-sweatshirt. 

“Get some sleep, okay? You look like shit.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Washua.” 

Nostalgia sucker punches him right in the gut, rendering him speechless and tying his heart into knots. He covers his face with a big sleeve and groans, cheeks burning so bright he swears they’re emitting their own light. Chris laughs his sleepy laugh again which only throws more gasoline on the fire that is his face. God what a fucking dork. 

They say goodnight in the only way they know how; stubbornly. Slurred speech and blurry vision, marveling at how late, and then early it is, until Josh can’t keep his eyes open. He only plants to rest them for a moment, but then Chris starts humming, and the tune is so familiar Josh can’t help but let it drag him under. He swears he hears him in his dreams, voice smoother and richer than it has any right to be. This isn’t the first time Chris has sung him to sleep, but it’s perhaps the first time Josh has allowed himself to appreciate it without feeling guilty. 

And soon he’ll get to appreciate a lot more.


	5. Chapter 5

Chris can go on and on about how much of a spoiled brat he is, but when it comes down to it he’s the one usually treating Josh more often than not. Big bags of his favorite candy, letting him copy off his homework in homeroom, never hesitating before going along with an elaborate lie. He was an enabler for sure, but Josh loved that about him. 

Love. Now _that_ was a dangerous word. 

Josh tried not to think about it much, but after dumping all his baggage in therapy suddenly all he could think about was his best friend, and how he was terribly, stupidly, awfully in love with him. It was easier to deal with when they were apart, when they talked on the phone and texted and could only yearn like twenty somethings often do. It’s a lot harder to ignore now, their legs tangled together in the backseat of Chris’ car, a joint passing between warm fingers. 

“Would you rather,” Chris says, gesturing at Josh with the end of a pretzel rod, “drink an entire liter of spit, or an entire liter of jizz?”

Josh gags at the thought, kicking his thigh. They’re scrunched up in the backseat, backs pressed against the doors, legs across the seats and spilling into each other’s laps. He’s got one of Chris’ feet under his thigh, the other on the back of his knee, while both of his own are dangerous close to his crotch. 

“That’s fucking distugung,” Josh pops the last gummy bear into his mouth and hits Chris with a truly disapproving scowl. “I’d rather drink piss.”

Chris waggles his eyebrows. “That’s not an option but thanks for sharing.” He slouches lower against his door, no doubt fucking his back up even further, but he looks cute all scrunched up. Josh especially like his lack of layering today; he only wore a loose long sleeved shirt under his sweatshirt, a very nice and warm muted orange sweatshirt that Josh was now wearing. His own shirt had been banished to the floor. 

“Is it hot or cold?” Josh sighs, grabbing the nearest soda bottle and draining it, realizing with a happy sigh that it’s not the root beer he had been chugging earlier. Chris makes a face around the joint, passing it over as he contemplates the dregs of the root beer bottle. Josh Washington was greedy but he already knew that. 

“Let’s say cold jizz, hot spit.” He shudders at his own description. “Pick fast so we can stop talking about it.”

“It was your idea!” Josh laughs, taking a moment to blow smoke to the ceiling. “Ugh, fine. I’ll take the jizz. If I chug it fast I can pretend it’s just a bad milkshake or something.”

With the snacks demolished and nothing else left to smoke, Josh is all out of distractions. It was his idea to do this, calling Chris out for a low budget camping trip in an area of the woods that most certainly didn’t allow for camping. The gang were all gearing up for some party back home, but the way Chris lit up at the mention of running off into the unknown with him gave him the courage to continue with the plan. Which was honestly less of a plan and more of a blind leap of faith, like stage diving. He’s either about to get everything he’s ever wanted, or he’s going to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

Go big or go home, right? 

“Who would you rather take to prom: me or Ashley?” He tries to play it casual, like the idea just popped into his head, but he’s a director first and an actor second, and Chris can smell his bullshit from miles away. 

“Aren’t we a little too old for prom?” Chris says, playing along. His head lolls against the headrest, his posture is loose and fluid, but his eyes are too sharp, too focused. Josh has never felt this seen and he honestly doesn’t know if he likes it or not. 

“C’mon man, you know all the high schoolers in movies are thirty somethings. Picture it like the perfect romcom.” He spreads his shaky hands out in front of him, fingers taking the shape of a film square. “The theme is Hollywood Nights.”

“So you’re on the planning committee in this universe?”

“Yes, now shut up.” The teasing helps him relax, reminds him of what’s normal. Even if he’s about to drive normal straight off a cliff. “The decorations are emursive, the music doesn’t suck, the punch is spiked to perfection. You’ve been crowned prom king—“

“Annnd you lost me.”

Josh tries his best to glare. “Fine, pick a date then, you ass. Who are you bangin in the back of the limo?”

Chris’ eyebrows jump nearly to his hairline. “That wasn’t the question.” 

“It’s implied,” Josh fires back. “Everyone fucks at prom, Cochise. Now stop stalling.” 

He already knows the truth, whether Chris wants to take the initiative and ruin their friendship right here and now or not. The tentative friends he’s made in class always know who he’s texting, because his expression goes warm candy soft and he tunes them out the entire time his phone is in his hands. They FaceTime so often it’s like he never left, to the point where when his dad wants updates on his health he goes to Chris first. Josh knows where they stand. But hearing it out loud wouldn’t hurt. 

“I can’t make a fair case.” Chris says eventually, after a long moment of looking at anything that isn’t Josh. 

“Why not?” Josh tries not to let his crushing disappointment show on his face. This was fine! Taking it slow, still breakdancing around the obvious. Cool. Cool cool cool. Awesome. 

Chris regards him with something close to a smile, a tense edge to. “I’ve kissed Ash. Comparing you to her would be unfair, you know? It’s why the film industry suffers. Just because someone is a good director doesn’t mean their script is worth signing on.”

And now they are making Very Meaningful Eye Contact. And now Chris is biting his lip in a way that is anything but shy. And now Josh is wondering how anyone thought he was the desirable one between the two of them when Chris was radiating this kind of energy. There was no way he was letting anyone else have him, not now and certainly not when the smoke cleared. 

“Well,” Josh sighs, like it’s a chore to crawl across the backseat, to fold himself into Chris’ lap. “We can’t have you being biased.”

Josh knows that if he hesitates he’ll chicken out, so he doesn’t. Chris tilts his chin up to meet him, and then everything is quiet, and then everything is perfect. It’s a movie worthy kiss, disco ball shining above them as they sway to the band, prom king and his unlikely love interest who wore sneakers instead of heels or some cliche bullshit like that. Chris holds his face and his hands are warm and solid and Josh can’t believe he waited this long, can’t believe there was a time when he wanted to set Chris up with someone else. What a fucking idiot. 

When they break away from each other they’re both breathing harder, eyes searching flushed faces. Josh bites his lip, Chris’ eyes dart to track the movement, and it takes everything he has not to devour him. He hasn’t gotten his answer yet. 

“So. Who’s it gonna be?” Josh doesn’t remember winding his arms around Chris’ shoulders but he doesn’t take them back. Likewise, Chris seems reluctant to put any space between them, drawing him in close to nibble at his bottom lip. 

“I’ve kissed her more than once. Gotta even the playing field.”

Josh wants to ask how many times and when and why and if he’s better than she was, but Chris doesn’t give him enough time to spiral down into his thoughts. He kisses Josh with purpose now, less like he’s testing the waters and more like he’s testing his limits. Josh doesn’t put up any barriers, body loose and pliant under the eager hands that slip under his shirt and explore the dips and curves of his back. He knows he’s more sharp angles than smooth curves, knows his skin is rough and scarred where somebody else would be soft and delicate. And for a moment he wants to stop, to laugh it off and go back to choking down all the feelings that threaten to drown him now. 

But then Chris moans, hands clutching Josh’s hips, pulling him closer as he grinds up against him, and suddenly Josh loses all of his cool points. He has never hated clothes more than he does right now and that’s reflected in the way he angrily paws at Chris’ shirt. A ripping sound makes Chris laugh and he hates that too, doesn’t want to stop kissing him, not even to breathe. 

“Tell me,” he says against his jaw. “Tell me who you want.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sneaky hands slip down the back of his pants and grab his ass, kneading and squeezing the flesh as Josh’s dick tries it’s hardest to break free of the offending material. The friction is muted and dry and not enough. 

“Wanna hear you say it.” _Say you want me say you love me pick me Pick Me._

The heat and the pressure, it’s all too much. Josh wrestles his way out of Chris’ sweatshirt only for a hot tongue to trace his clavicle. He arches his back, every nerve on fire, skin far too sensitive. His tongue sticks to the room of his mouth, words caught in his chest, getting more tangled the harder Chris bites and plays with his nipples. His boy has been holding out on him and if he wasn’t half out of his mind with want he’d lament all the time he wasted trying to turn everything into a joke. 

A moment of pause allows Josh to string a few brain cells together, long enough to free himself from Chris’ addicting grasp and to get himself between his legs properly. It’s not the most comfortable, and here on his belly the lack of room in the backseat is that much more apparent, but it’s worth it for the view. 

“Well?” Chris asks when Josh does nothing but stare up at him. Josh smirks. 

“I don’t work for free, Hartley. Am I getting a corsage or not?” Like hell is he letting this bastard get away with his non-answer. He doesn’t care about how cute Chris looks when he’s confused, or how his sweet little smile makes his heart melt, or how hot he looks slowly unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans and… 

“What if we skipped prom all together?” Chris murmurs, stroking his cock mere inches from Josh’s face. He makes a mental note to go back in time and kick his own ass because Holy Shit, Christopher has _really_ been holding out on him. 

It’s fat. There’s now flowery, purple prose way of describing it. Josh watches it thicken up significantly in Chris’ fist, and his jaw aches in sympathy. He won’t call it pretty; _his_ dick is pretty and he’s got the pictures to prove it. Chris is just impressive. Calloused fingers dig into his chin and tilt his head up while Chris feeds him his cock, breath hitching as he keeps his gaze trained on Josh’s mouth. 

_“Fuck,”_ Chris hissss through clenched teeth when Josh takes charge immediately. He doesn’t know how to process all the feelings filling his head like smoke but he knows how to do this; knows how to suck and sallow and blink past the tears in his eyes to meet Chris’ hungry gaze above him. The lack of friction on his own dick is driving him crazy and he can’t help but to roll his hips against the fake leather, slow and needy, putting on a show. 

“You are way too good at this.” Chris almost sounds awed, and Josh can’t smirk with his lips stretched as wide as they are, but he knows the energy he’s radiating portrays how smug he feels. 

“Who else you been doing this with, Washington?” His hum of approval turns into a loud moan when Chris pulls at his hair, twisting just shy of too much. Josh tries to gulp down air and just ends up gagging when Chris fucks up into his throat, but he doesn’t tap out, and if anything Chris just goes harder. The hand on Josh’s head is less guiding and more demanding; it scratches an itch Josh didn’t know he had. He’s so used to calling the shots, having all the answers. Chris growls something that might be a warning and then Josh is fighting not to be pulled off. 

By the time Chris yanks him up Josh is lightheaded and out of breath, spit and cum covering his chin and a fire beneath his skin that has him shaking. There’s no room for words, not with Josh pushing his pants down and Chris licking into his mouth, curling his fingers around his twitching, aching cock. Josh _sobs_ , fucking into Chris’ fist with a frantic, spilling energy, nothing like the slow and sensual way he moved before. Chris keeps him close, lips moving against his, gasping and mouthing at each other without any skill or finesse.

It’s perfect. 

Later, after many soft kisses and the ruining of one shirt, after they’ve crawled into their shitty little tent because as cozy as it is, sleeping in that car is murder, Chris laughs. It’s a small thing but it jostles Josh from where he’s sprawled across his chest. 

“Didn’t we actually skip prom together?” Chris says, chin pressed snugly to the top of Josh’s head. 

“Hmm?”

He shifts, one arm behind his head, the other on Josh’s hip. “You said it was lame, so we dressed as slouchy as possible and spent the night ruining the kitchen and shitting on bad movies.”

The memory wobbles in his mind, but it’s warm and fuzzy like an old stuffed animal. Sharing a blanket, walking to the bathroom together so the conversation didn’t die, waking up with limbs tangled together. 

“Seems you made your choice a long time ago, Cochise.” He yawns, the anxiety and apprehension that usually makes a home in his chest blessedly absent for the first time in years. He takes a deep breath and can feel it all the way, no numbness, no hesitation. Just pine and warmth and sweat and them. 

“Yeah.” Josh can heat the smile in his voice, clear as day. “I guess I did.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I can’t believe you uprooted your whole life for some dick.” 

Emily’s voice fills the car, as fond and degrading as always. Josh snickers to himself, holding the phone so she can sneer at his driver from the right angle. Chris refuses to meet her gaze, eyes tracking the road, but the tips of his ears flush the faintest shades of pink. 

“I uprooted it for ass, Em, there’s a difference.”

Josh preens, shaking said ass smugly in the passenger seat. It didn’t take long to seriously convince Chris to transfer schools. He was a good boy with good grades, and with him moving in with Josh he didn’t need to worry about rent or textbooks or any of that shit. Convincing Mr. Hartley was a different battle, but a Washington never backs down from a challenge. Chris was already spending most of his weekends with him anyway, bringing clothes and little things and just never taking them back. It was a done deal before he even said yes, but helping him pack, seeing his new schedule and sitting in the office as he got a new student ID, it was good, the certainty. 

The gang back home wasn’t too surprised, not even Ashley who right now is pouting like a fish as she muscles in to fully stare a hole into the side of Chris’ face. “I can’t believe you. Who’s gonna help me study now?”

Josh turns the phone back towards himself, sporting a bright and cheery grin. “You’ve got Matt! He’s a good, brainy boy. Handsome too, have you seen those shoulders?” Matt shouts something in the background that blends in with Jess’ laugh. His heart aches just a little bit; he really does miss them, for all the jokes he throws their way. 

He even misses Ash, even if she is giving him the evil eye right now. “This is your fault, Washington. You corrupted our sweet boy.”

“Oh believe me, I’m taking full responsibility.” His hand, out of view of the camera, plants itself high on Chris’ thigh. He gives it a rough squeeze, feeling the muscles tense beneath his fingers. 

They chat for almost two hours, everyone taking turns to unload about their week. _Journey_ makes a guest appearance on the radio, and the sound of ten people who don’t know how to sing trying to harmonize is as brilliant as it is ear splitting. Chris and Sam are their saving grace, and Josh knows he’s smiling like a fool when Emily tells them to get a room. Which he promptly creates by ending the call soon after. Maybe he’s selfish for the way he wants Chris, but at least he knows he’s not the only one. 

“You up for some road head?” Josh asks when they hit a patch of slow traffic. 

“Not while I’m driving, I’ll crash.” Ignoring the fact that they’re now moving at a snail's pace. It’s cute, how flustered he gets when Josh decides to be bold. But Josh is wise to the way his boy can pull a complete 180 and leave him flat on his ass. 

“Is my technique that good? Can I get your glowing review for my resume?” He mimes licking his finger and sorting through a filing cabinet, missing the dark smile that turns Chris’ lips. 

Once it’s clear they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, Chris reaches over and grips the back of Josh’s neck, pulling him into a hard kiss that leaves him breathless and straining against his seatbelt to get closer. Chris bites at his bottom lip, fingers climbing up to twist into his hair. 

“If I see anyone trying to take you from me I’m putting their body in the trunk.”

Josh sighs heavily through his nose, a lust filled exhale. He feels hot and giddy, anticipation buzzing through his limbs. “Were you always this possessive?”

Chris kisses him again just because he can, softer, the heat brought down to a gentle simmer. Josh swoons like a teenager on a European vacation and thanks all the gods that he doesn’t believe in that it’s raining. If anyone could see the way he chased after Chris when he pulled away he’d have to execute them. No witnesses to his marshmallow heart. 

“Not like you’re any better, Joshington.”

“You indulge me.”

“Mayhaps.”

Eventually the world kicks into gear outside of their bubble, and the trusty box of metal that holds most of Josh’s fondest memories carries them across the asphalt, further from the past and faster towards the future. Or something cheesy like that. The whole butterflies in the stomach, dizzy in the head, tongue tied clumsy fool act doesn’t seem so bad if it’s Chris. Nothing feels too bad if it’s Chris, and maybe that’s its own brand of cheese but he deserves something nice once in a while, doesn’t he? 

Josh kicks his feet up on the dashboard and reclines his seat back, eyes drifting closed as Chris hums along to the radio. Now and then a hand ruffles through his hair or strokes his cheek, and Josh can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. 

“So, were you serious about that road head?”

Heh. _Really_ lucky.


End file.
